


horns

by fairbanks



Series: goretober 2018 [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Goretober 2018, M/M, antler shedding, oh my god they're roommates, person growing animal shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbanks/pseuds/fairbanks
Summary: “You look like a deer in headlights,” that was the last thing Jarod said to him before their little scuffle, one that ended with Jon escaping with a couple of bumps on his head.A deer in headlights, he remembers clearly. The protrusions growing out of his head are very clearly the beginnings of antlers. “That asshole.”





	horns

**Author's Note:**

> set in an au where gerard's alive and was just stuck in america being vaguely menaced by trevor and julia.

  1. **horns**



 

“My head hurts,” Jon mumbles from Gerard’s lap. There’s a rag full of ice on his bruised temple and Gerard’s fingers in his hair, loosening unruly knots. Gerard smells dark, like smoke and leather and spices he can’t name. His hand is so gentle though, and Jon thinks all his life Gerard wanted something worth such gentleness. It sets a tightness in Jon’s throat to think about.

 

“Happens when you piss off a guy twice your size, and with otherworldly powers to boot,” Gerard ever so helpfully informs him, and he opens one eye to glare and immediately regrets it.

 

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Jon complains, and he was right. He wasn’t even working, just out to pick up a few things from the corner store- cigarettes for Gerard, coffee for himself, a small bag of lemon drops because it had been a while and he deserved them, damnit. Completely innocent, no bothering or badgering or the like, and around the corner came Jarod Hopworth.

 

Obviously the meeting did not end well. The painful lumps on his head proved that.

 

“Your bones seem intact, right shape and all that,” Gerard offers. The worst part about this, Jon thinks, is he dropped his lemon drops. He didn’t even get to indulge in self pity candy and that was deplorable. “You sure you didn’t badger him for information?”

 

“I hate you,” Jon informs, nudges his head into Gerard’s hand until the man chuckles and resumes his fingers through Jon’s hair.

 

-

 

Jon never expected to have a roommate. He was an adult now, one who made enough money to support himself, perhaps not to the point of any luxury but certainly without worrying about roommates. It helped he didn’t have many hobbies to spend money on, especially not anymore. It also helped his social circle, aside from coworkers who mostly hated him, was one stubborn woman and her cat. And Gerard, now, but that was an entirely different matter.

 

Helping Gerard escape from the hunters in America and back to London was an adventure all its own, and of course he offered Gerard a place to stay afterward. The man had very little to his name and Jon barely used his new place anyway, the boxes still packed aside from essentials. Gerard agreed, because there wasn’t much else for him to do. They both agreed Gerard would stay a couple of weeks until he got himself settled in London. That was two months ago.

 

(“A roommate Jon, really?” Elias asked him shortly after, the ‘ _Gerard Keay, really?’_ obvious in his tone. Jon thought that annoying Elias made the whole offer worth it, actually.

 

“One that can take care of himself,” Jon answered.

 

“One that burns books,” was Elias’ easy reply.

 

“One that helped Gertrude- why am I arguing this with you? It’s my damn apartment.”

 

“Because I was the one who helped him back without all the trouble of ‘declared dead’ over his name.”

 

Jon scoffed. “Given how often you’ve failed to be helpful in any way before-”

 

“Do as you will, Jon,” Elias sighed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”)

 

Gerard is a good roommate. He’s quiet, he’s clean and he decapitated sawdust stuffed mannequin in human skin that followed them home one evening when they decided to go out for Thai. He even offered to take care of the tip and left a respectable amount. All in all Jon is rather fond of having him around.

 

Another perk of this surprising development is having someone there when he wakes in in excruciating pain.

 

“Fu--” Jon can’t even finish the word, rolling to his side and to the floor, taking half the contents of his nightstand with him. His head is somewhere between on fire and being stabbed repeatedly with icy shards. Maybe both. When he reaches up to grasp his temples in some useless attempt at relief his hands bump against something hard and protruding.

 

That’s when he shouts, and that’s when he finally notices Gerard at his side, helping him up and to the bathroom.

 

They share a bed, so of course Gerard would wake even if he hadn’t screamed. He thinks about that a lot, actually, the fact they share a bed. It just seemed logical at the time, the couch he dragged with him is a lumpy monstrosity that might as well be its own domain titled Discomfort and his bed is certainly large enough to hold two comfortably. After a couple of nights on the couch Gerard looked so strained Jon had tested it, laid himself down then immediately called on Gerard to find a better solution.

 

Sharing a bed. A good, logical solution.

 

(They started touching more after that, simple affections they danced around until one night Gerard was sleep drunk enough to lean bodily against Jon to keep himself upright.

 

“This is nice,” Gerard said, so very _Gerry_ in that moment, awed by the act of easy contact.

 

“It is,” Jon agreed, thought of all the years Gerard must have held himself tight against nightmares rather than flee to his mother’s arms like any other child would- thought of all the years he did the same, because he was too stubborn and his grandmother too tired. He shifted closer, let Gerard’s head of dark, dyed hair fall on his shoulder.

 

They never spoke of it but it became commonplace, and it is another detail of his life he is quite glad for.)

 

“Good news or bad news first?” Gerard asks him, seats him on the rim of the tub as Jon keeps his eyes stubborn closed against the light.

 

“What does that even _mean_ Gerry?”

 

“Good news then. This isn’t fatal and it’s likely fixable,” continues Gerard, and Jon feels cool fingertips at the skin just below his temples. His head feels so heavy, and every time he reaches up Gerard gently takes his hands and lowers them once more.

 

“ _What_ isn’t fatal?”

 

“The bad news. Turns out Hopworth didn’t manipulate any bones you already had, just added new ones.”

 

This time when Jon reaches up Gerard doesn’t stop him, and from his temples he feels- feels a _protrusion._ Two hard growths of a strange shape, warm to the touch and covered in something he assumes must be his skin. He stands stubbornly, forces himself through the jolt of pain to finally open his eyes and find the mirror-

 

“ _Horns_ ,” is all Jon manages.

 

“Antlers, technically,” Gerard shrugs.

 

(His encounter with Jarod Hopworth was a quick one, really. A turn around the corner, bumping into a solid mass and dropping his bag. He flooded with irritation but held his tongue, shot an irritated look to the man who so rudely rushed the corner and-

 

“You’re the Archivist.”

 

The man was massive, just… massive. It took Jon a moment to register anything else, but when he did the answer was clear.

 

“... Jarod Hopworth.”

 

All in all the man didn’t seem all that upset to see him, just a shock replaced by a slow amusement through his sharply cut and unnaturally perfect jaw.

 

“You look like a deer in headlights,” that was the last thing Jarod said to him before their little scuffle, one that ended with Jon escaping with a couple of bumps on his head.)

 

A deer in headlights, he remembers clearly. The protrusions growing out of his head are very clearly the beginnings of antlers. “That _asshole._ ”

 

“Sit,” Gerard orders and Jon does, all irritable energy and gnawing pain.

 

Gerard takes one of his hands, rubs the pad of his thumb in small, firm circles around each of Jon’s knuckles, follows the thin bones up to his fingertips and then back down. The repetitive motion is calming, the contact more so, and despite the sickening stretch of growths he shouldn’t have Jon relaxes, inch by inch.

 

“Thank you,” he offers Gerard, begrudging and sheepish in equal measure. Gerard shrugs, releases his hand to sit next to him, their legs flush. “I suppose I’ll just… saw them off.”

 

“You don’t know much about antlers, I take it?” Gerard asks, shakes his head. “They’ll grow fast then start to shed. Once they’ve shed the bone will die and eventually fall off within the year, assuming they work the way typical antlers do.”

 

“Why do you even know this much about antlers?”

 

Gerard ignores that. “I’d at least wait until you’ve shed before trying anything, and even then we’ll have to figure out if they’ll just grow back every year anyway. Got to hand it to Hopworth, this is impressive control. I didn’t think he could manage anything so intricate.”

 

“Yes, how _lovely_ for his skill set and personal growth. Meanwhile how exactly am I supposed to go to work? Or go out? I don’t think there’s a hat that could cover… this,” Jon snaps, and Gerard’s lips quirk. He smiles so much more lately, Jon thinks. It would be a wonderful thought if he didn’t currently want to thrash him.

 

“Maybe two hats.”

 

“I take my thanks back, you’re useless.”

 

“Call Bouchard, see what he says. I’ll look in a way to stop the cycle of regrowth, assuming that’s the case. You have vacation time set aside, don’t you?” Gerard asks, clapping his shoulder. Jon just buries his face in his hands and doesn’t bother thinking about how this was going to affect the whole Unknowing mission.

 

Maybe he could gore Nikola. He doubts, somehow, that it would be much help.

 

-

 

He calls Elias and gets several minutes of thinly veiled amusement and scolding for ‘letting himself be caught off guard.’ Jon takes great pleasure in hanging up on him, as hollow a victory as it is. His antlers ( _his antlers_ is a phrase that’s in his damned life now) have already grown about half a centimeter in less than twenty-four hours, a fact Gerard assures him is normal. For deer. Jon hates many things right now.

 

The call with Martin is much longer, mostly because Martin refused to take vague answers and Jon is, in theory, attempting to communicate with his assistants more. So ‘something came up’ becomes ‘I had an encounter with some lasting effects’ to ‘Martin I grew _antlers_ , can we please stop talking about this now?’

 

(“Oh my god Jon!” is Martin’s reaction, and Jon can’t blame him. “You’re not… you’re not cursed, are you? Like um, to turn into a deer?”

 

“Martin,” Jon groans and yes, he can blame him for that one.

 

“Because you can’t- you can’t be a _deer_ , Jon! I mean yes, it sounds a right laugh and all but the implications-”

 

“I am not turning into a deer!” Jon raises his voice and immediately regrets it, mostly because Gerard snorts so loud on the couch he starts coughing. “I just… I’m handling it. I just can’t come into work at normal times since-”

 

“The um. The antlers.”

 

“Precisely.”

 

“I’m sure they look nice,” Martin tries, and Jon rubs his forehead, pointedly avoiding the new growths. )

 

After all that is taken care of Jon finds himself trapped in the flat. Obviously, what else could he do? He couldn’t be seen this way, had no interest in the gawking and trouble it would incur. The pain of it leaves him lying down more often than not, head at awkward angles to budget for the increasingly cumbersome growth. It’s hard to sleep and it only takes a week before he’s cranky and has to duck in low doors.

 

Gerard is, at least, a blessing. Calm, composed, knowledgeable and willing to go out in his stead to look into the matter. He’s also smart enough to get Jon’s assistants involved, which does wonders for Martin’s nervous checking in and Melanie’s more accusatory quips about abandonment before things got serious.

 

Gerard also is a soothing presence, despite appearances.

 

(“Hey,” Gerard calls as he comes in from the front door, bag under his arm. He throws it into Jon’s lap, walks passed to the kitchen area as Jon looks to him questioningly then the bag.

 

Lemon drops and painkillers. “Thought you could use both,” Gerard explains as he returns with can of the terrible beer he insisted on buying.

 

“Thank you,” answers Jon, softly because it’s such a thoughtful little thing and, for some absurd reason, it sticks in his throat.)

 

If he’s quiet he swears he can hear his skull churn, the creaking growth of bone. His head is heavy, too heavy, leaves his neck and shoulders aching, and somehow worst of all is the sick lurch every time he looks in a mirror. It’s _wrong_ in some visceral way, absurd and strange, a physical manifestation of his growing inhumanity.

 

At least they aren’t demon horns, he admits to himself in grim humor, even if Jarod’s little deer joke still irked him.

 

Within a week and a half they reach what both he and Gerard assume (hope) will be their full height. Getting through doors is now a concentrated effort and all the growth leaves him feeling weak and hungry, eating far more than he’s used to and getting himself sick.

 

All of this is nothing compared to when the shedding starts.

 

It’s an itch at first, and loath as Jon is to touch the things he ends up rubbing them against door frames, letting out deep sighs of relief until he notices blood now spread high on the wood of the frame. Antler shedding, as it turns out, is mess of dead skin and old blood, stringing around the sharp points of the antlers like morbid garland. Underneath the dead bone is smooth but that first flush of blood and sagging velvet nearly throws Jon into a panic. He texts Gerard to return quickly if he can manage, a simply enough request.

 

Of course Gerard was meeting with Martin and Basira at the time so they’re at his heels when he returns, concern turned to a mixture of shock and amusement between them when they see his state.

 

“Jon- oh I- are you alright?” Martin’s first to rush in, Basira and Gerard behind and much more sedate. “Does it hurt? Do you need anything?”

 

“He’s shedding,” Gerard explains, strolls to prod at the newly uncovered bone. “Deer eat the velvet sometimes.”

 

“Do _not_ ,” Jon hisses and thoroughly hates himself for the way Gerard’s small smile curbs any further irritation.

 

They stay for dinner because Basira and Martin like Gerard, of course they do, and Gerard isn’t entirely sure how to handle it. Jon watches from the couch, trying to ignore the irritating itch as Gerard and Martin try to figure out dinner. He thinks of Gerard and the look in his eyes, the guarded vulnerability there, when he asked to be called Gerry. Maybe Martin and Basira call him that, or will in time. It’s a pleasant thought.

 

“So,” Basira says, sliding in next to him with a knowing smile at the soft quirk to his lips as he watched. “Deer typical begin shedding after they mate.”

 

“If I never hear another deer fact after this debacle is over with I’ll be overjoyed,” answers Jon, and like the fool he was he doesn’t realize until hours later, lying in bed with Gerard, what Basira was getting it.

 

“Oh _lord_ ,” Jon groans, rubs at his face as Gerard glances over from the laptop. “Basira thinks we’re- she said deer shed after they _mate_.”

 

“She’s right, connect to testosterone and all,” Gerard replies, unperturbed. Jon, on the other hand, is very perturbed.

 

“Well we didn’t- it’s not that it’s bad I just- I don’t typically do-” Jon stumbles and Gerard closes the laptop, watches him curiously. “I’m not disturbed that the rumor’s you.”

 

“Me neither.” Gerard shifts and suddenly they’re closer. He got most of the shedding done that evening after Basira and Martin left, leaving smooth bone that Gerard runs his fingers up. When Gerard does that, he thinks, he doesn’t mind the damn things as much.

 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Jon informs him, spends one horrific moment in limbo until Gerard’s surprise falls to that small smile he’s grown very fond of indeed.

 

“I’d like that,” Gerard assures, and the one good point he’d give the damnable antlers is they don’t get in the way.


End file.
